Katy

by Jacqueline Wilson

  Then we were safe! The secret garden looked as beguiling as ever. We dumped the picnic basket and circled our special place, admiring every soft, fragrant rose, taking our shoes off to walk in the long grass that tickled our ankles. Dorry even lost interest in the picnic for five minutes and was happy gambolling in the grass with Jonnie, both of them talking their own secret language, while Zebby kicked up his heels and lay on his back. Phil lay nose-to-nose with Tyler conducting a licking contest. This probably wasn’t very hygienic but they both enjoyed it very much.

  Clover and Cecy dragged the picnic under the weeping willow tree and started setting it out neatly on a plastic tablecloth, dividing everything into seven with scrupulous care. I took the chance to climb my special tree. The knee of my jeans got caught on an awkward branch and there was an ugly tearing sound. They were new jeans too, so Izzie wasn’t going to be happy. Oh well, I’d simply have to remind her that ripped jeans were the latest fashion.

  I got almost to the top of the tree and clung there, peering down at the tiny world below me. It was particularly weird looking down into my own garden. Dad and Izzie were sitting on the little terrace, drinking cups of coffee. Their heads were close and they were murmuring together. I hated seeing them like that. I looked up at the sky instead. An aeroplane was flying high in the sky. Perhaps I’d be an airline pilot one day and swoop over vast continents on a daily basis. Or maybe I’d be an astronaut and hurtle upwards into space until the Earth itself looked as small as my own back garden.

  I went off into a daydream but was soon brought back to earth by the clamour beneath me. The littlies had got tired of playing and wanted their picnic ‘now, now, now!’ So we all ducked under the soft green fronds of the weeping willow and sat cross-legged round the wonderful feast. I pretended it was an exotic gargantuan banquet of champagne and caviar, suckling pig and guinea fowl, and extraordinary sweetmeats, with fine offerings from abroad of crushed cocoa bean and golden slivers of potato, when it was actually lemonade, tuna sandwiches, chipolata sausages and chicken wings, and strawberry cupcakes, with Cecy’s contribution of Kit Kats and crisps. I’m sure our real feast tasted just as good as the imaginary one would have done.

  We ate and ate, even Elsie, who’s ultra picky. Dorry looked at her share hopefully, but she ate it all up, every crumb. Then we lay back with full tummies.

  ‘Start up a game, Katy,’ said Clover.

  I thought of all my plans for the future.

  ‘OK. What do we all want to do when we grow up? You go first, Cecy,’ I said, giving her a gentle nudge.

  ‘Well … I’m going to grow my hair right down to my waist – not extensions, my real hair – and I’ll have highlights to make it look blonder, and I want to stay quite thin but much curvier, you know …’ Cecy waved her hand in the air.

  Dorry and Jonnie sniggered.

  ‘You shut up, you two! Carry on, Cecy,’ I commanded. ‘Will you be a dancer?’

  ‘Yes, and a singer, so I’ll have several really big hits and I’ll be splashed all over the celebrity magazines,’ said Cecy.

  ‘Boring!’ Elsie muttered, and I glared at her.

  ‘But then do you know what I’m going to do?’ said Cecy.

  ‘Get married and have five children?’ Clover suggested.

  ‘No, I’ll have all these film stars and boy bands mad about me and I might have a little fling here and there, but I’m going to use my money to start a special orphanage in some poor country and I’ll go there myself and tend all the little babies, just like Mother Teresa,’ Cecy said triumphantly.

  ‘You’ll be Sister Cecy,’ I said. ‘That’s wonderful! Right, Clover, your turn.’

  ‘Well, I want long hair down to my waist too, and I’ll straighten it so there isn’t a single curl left, and I’ll be very rich too. Maybe I’ll work in the City and make pots of money,’ said Clover.

  ‘But you’re rubbish at maths,’ said Elsie.

  ‘I’ll be great at finance, just you wait and see. Who’s got the most pocket money out of all of us, eh?’ said Clover.

  Elsie couldn’t dispute this, because Clover hoarded her money carefully while we generally spent ours as soon as we got it.

  ‘So, see, I’ll be mega rich and live in a huge great mansion with a swimming pool and a helicopter pad, so I’ll swim every day and go for a ride in my helicopter, and I’ll have a brand-new designer outfit every single day – and I’ll also buy lovely designer clothes for children and heaps and heaps of toys and mini iPads and small bikes and I’ll ship them all out for Cecy’s orphans,’ said Clover.

  ‘Brilliant!’ I said. ‘Go on then, Elsie, your turn.’

  ‘Well, I’ll – I’ll have long hair right down to my feet and I’ll be the greatest singer and dancer ever and I’ll feed all the orphans in an entire country and I’ll make billions and billions of pounds in the City and I’ll wear a new set of clothes every hour and I’ll be so generous to little children that the Queen will make me Princess Elsie,’ she said, waving her arms around emphatically.

  ‘That’s just copying Cecy and Clover,’ I said. ‘But OK, now it’s your turn, Dorry.’

  ‘Easy-peasy,’ said Dorry. ‘When I grow up I’m going to order king-size pizzas every day with ten different toppings on every one, and I’ll have giant cupcakes with heaps of buttercream, and ten chocolate bars, and I’ll have a huge tub of ice cream every day too and all the fizzy drinks I want, and no one will ever say, “That’s enough for a little boy,” or tell me I’ll get fat.’

  We all fell about laughing.

  ‘You little pig, Dorry!’ I said. ‘What about you, Jonnie?’

  ‘I’ll tame a real zebra as my special pet and learn how to ride my bike right up into the sky like in that old ET film and I’ll play for a Premier League football team,’ said Jonnie.

  ‘Cool!’ I said. ‘And you, Phil?’

  ‘I’ll be a big, big lion and I’ll eat you all up!’ said Phil, and he ran round roaring at us.

  Then Dorry and Jonnie started pretending to be lions too and they crawled out of the willow cave and went running round crazily with Phil, playing the Eat You All Up game.

  ‘They’re such babies,’ said Elsie scornfully.

  ‘They’re just having fun,’ I said.

  ‘What about you, Katy? You haven’t said what you’re going to do when you’re grown up,’ said Clover.

  ‘Yes, go on – tell,’ said Cecy.

  So I told them all my plans about living in a big house with everyone and being brilliantly famous and winning lots of car races and writing best-selling books. I heard my voice go all wavery while I was telling it, because it suddenly seemed a bit silly. I wanted it to be real, but maybe it was just childish pretend. That was the trouble with getting older. Sometimes I couldn’t quite believe things any more. We could be right in the middle of a brilliant new game – all of us playing we were brain surgeons or animal trainers or Russian royalty – and it could seem as real as anything, and then suddenly in a flash I’d see we were just Katy and Clover and Cecy saying silly stuff and getting pink in the face.

  But Clover and Cecy still seemed to believe in me, thank goodness.

  ‘Can I have my own room in your house, Katy – a pink room with a giant pink teddy bear and a built-in wardrobe for all my designer clothes?’ Clover asked.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I said graciously.

  ‘And will you take me for rides in your cars, if you promise not to go too fast?’ she said.

  ‘Oh, me too, me too!’ said Cecy.

  ‘I’ll have a special red Ferrari just for the three of us,’ I promised.

  ‘And will you dedicate your first book to me, Katy?’ Cecy asked. ‘To Cecy, my best friend in all the world.’

  ‘Of course, and it will also be to Clover, the best sister in all the world,’ I promised. ‘Oh, I forgot! I’m not the only writer in the family! Did you know Dorry’s been keeping a diary?’

  ‘Dorry?’ said Clover.

  ‘I found it t
his morning, when mean old Izzie was making me vacuum all the bedrooms. He’d hidden it in a sock under his bed. I couldn’t help snaffling it to show you. It’s hilarious!’ I peeped out of the willow fronds, but Dorry was still busy being a lion with the other littlies.

  ‘Look!’ I said, fishing the tiny notebook from my jeans pocket. I read it out loud, indicating the valiant stabs at spelling along the way.

  Satday – Im going to rite a dairy to tell all the grate things I do.

  Sunday – Oh yum, pancakes for breakfast and I had heeps maypel sirrup. Then rost chiken for dinner with 4 potatos and appel crumbel, two helps.

  Munday – School. Had ice lolly on way home.

  Twoday – School. Jonnie gave me half her pizza.

  Wenday – School. Nothing day.

  Thurday – School. Nothing day.

  Fryday – School fish and chips arnt as nice as chip shop stuff.

  Satday – We had picnic in secret garden and I ate all the sossage rolls. Spag bol for supper!!!

  Sunday – Rost pork and appel sorse and 4 potatos but horid brokalee. Fruit sallad and creem.

  Munday – School. Ice creem van not there.

  Twoday – School. Nothing day.

  Wenday – School. Found old toffee in pocket.

  Thurday – School. Nothing day.

  Fryday – School. Nothing day.

  Satday – Rain. No picnic. Cant be bovverd to keep dairy eny more.

  We all laughed so much we had to lie down, gasping. We stared up into the roof of our willow cave. I was in the middle, holding hands with Clover one side and Cecy the other.

  ‘I wish every day could be a Saturday,’ I said. ‘I think I don’t want to grow up, even though we’re all going to be doing such grand, amazing things. I think being this age is maybe more fun.’

  3

  I loved Sundays too. Dad didn’t have any surgeries or clinics, and there was a locum doctor manning the phone lines so he didn’t even get called away to an emergency. We had him all to ourselves.

  Well, that’s not quite true. We had to share him with Izzie.

  When Mum was alive I used to lift Clover out of her cot and carry her in to Mum and Dad’s bed and we’d all four have a great big cuddle together.

  ‘I think I can remember the cuddles,’ Clover says.

  I know I can remember. They were the best times ever. And then, after we’d all had a little snooze, Mum didn’t mind a bit if we had a proper play. She always joined in, making out we were bears in our cave under the duvet or giving us a ride on her legs or playing peep-bo all together with Clover.

  But as soon as Izzie came to live with us Dad said we had to knock on the bedroom door before we came in and we weren’t allowed to disturb them until ten o’clock on Sunday mornings. Ten o’clock, when we’d been awake at least three hours!

  We were supposed to play quietly in our bedrooms. Izzie left a packet of cornflakes on the kitchen table in case we were hungry. Well, we weren’t going to go along with that! We pattered downstairs and I stood on a chair and managed to reach inside the cupboard and we had a proper feast. We ate great spoonfuls of jam and honey and sugar and scooped handfuls of sultanas and raisins and nuts. Clover and I once ate an entire packet of chocolate fingers between us. Elsie trailed after us and sometimes had a little nibble, but she mostly just stared at us balefully and told us we’d get into trouble. Well we did, but we didn’t care. We were making a point.

  Of course, after Dorry and Jonnie were born no one could have a quiet lie-in till ten o’clock. They started bawling their heads off at six o’clock every single day and went on making a terrible fuss for years. Then as soon as they’d quietened down at last and started sleeping in a bit, little Phil was born. No wonder he likes playing Lions now – he used to roar and roar and roar when he was a baby.

  I can reach the food cupboard easily now without standing on a chair. My goodness, I can practically reach up and touch the ceiling! But I’m totally responsible now, boringly big-sisterish. I pour us all a bowl of cornflakes and play a DVD in the living room, something like Frozen or Up or Wall-ee or one of the Toy Story movies, and the littlies and Elsie all sit as good as gold. Clover and I sometimes watch too. Or sometimes we go off and chat together or play our own private games.

  I should have done the usual thing this Sunday. Only I didn’t. I was hungry, and reading Dorry’s diary yesterday had given me an idea. Why didn’t I make pancakes? I could make them for all of us, and maybe bring Dad and Izzie theirs on a tray. Then the littlies would be so pleased and Dad would be truly impressed.

  So I set to in the kitchen, finding the biggest bowl and a wooden spoon, and setting all the ingredients out on the worktop. I wasn’t quite certain how you made a pancake mixture but I was pretty sure you needed eggs and flour. There were lots of us and we all loved pancakes, so I cracked open a dozen eggs and tipped in a whole big packet of flour.

  Elsie came trailing into the kitchen in her Hello Kitty nightie.

  ‘What are you doing, Katy?’ she asked, her eyes round.

  ‘Making pancakes,’ I said.

  ‘Do you know how to make pancakes?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course she does,’ said Clover confidently.

  ‘It’s easy-peasy,’ I said. ‘You just stir things round a bit and then fry them in the pan … And don’t you toss them? That’ll be the fun part,’ I said.

  ‘Oh Katy! You’re so clever,’ said Clover.

  She looked at me so admiringly that I felt like the greatest cook in the world and beat my pancake mixture with renewed vigour. I had such a huge bowlful that some of the mixture kept slopping over the side. It seemed a bit too wet and slippery, so I found a packet of some other sort of flour and shook some of that in too. Then it became so stodgy I could barely stir it. I’d used up all the eggs, so I poured in some milk and that helped matters tremendously. The mixture stayed pretty lumpy no matter how hard I stirred, but I hoped the pancakes would somehow smooth themselves out when they were cooking in the frying pan.

  ‘Now for the best bit,’ I said.

  I lit the gas carefully and put a huge knob of butter in the pan, almost half a packet.

  ‘That’s much too much,’ Elsie said.

  ‘No, it isn’t. We don’t want the pancakes to stick, do we?’ I said.

  The butter started sizzling alarmingly.

  ‘Should it make such a noise?’ asked Elsie.

  ‘It’s got to be piping hot. Stand back though. I don’t want you two to get splashed,’ I said, determined to be a good, responsible sister. I was getting a bit spattered with butter myself. I decided I’d better start cooking the pancakes quickly, so I poured a dollop of mixture into the pan.

  ‘There!’ I said, watching it spread itself out and crackle and spit. ‘Look, look! It’s turning into a proper pancake!’

  ‘Yes, it really is!’ said Clover.

  ‘I think it’s burning,’ said Elsie, waving her arms about. ‘Look at all the smoke!’

  ‘It’s fine. I’m sure it’s meant to be like this,’ I said. ‘It’s cooked on one side now so I’d better get tossing.’

  I seized the pan in both hands and gave a mighty toss. I wanted it to go high in the air for extra effect. I swear I wasn’t aiming at anyone. But it sailed through the air with alarming speed and landed right on Elsie’s head! She started shrieking. I’m ashamed to say Clover and I burst into helpless laughter because she looked so funny, pancake all over her hair. Then there was a sudden terrible wailing, even louder than Elsie’s. All the smoke had set the fire alarm off!

  Izzie and Dad came charging into the kitchen in their nightclothes, terrified the house was on fire. Izzie grabbed Elsie in horror while Dad turned the gas off, opened the window and flapped a cloth under the alarm until at last it stopped screaming. Then there was a sudden awful silence, apart from Elsie’s snivelling.

  ‘Oh my Lord! Whatever possessed you, Katy?’ said Izzie, almost in tears herself. ‘Look at poor Elsie! Did it burn you
, darling? Does it hurt terribly?’

  ‘Yes!’ Elsie wept.

  Dad looked at her head carefully. ‘No, she’s not burned. Come here, poppet. Let’s run the tap and get this nasty sticky gloop off you. Katy, how could you?’

  ‘I – I’m sorry, Dad. I was just making pancakes as a surprise,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t be cross with her!’ Clover begged.

  ‘She could have seriously injured Elsie and set the whole kitchen on fire!’ said Izzie. ‘Look at the state of the stove – and my worktop! And what are all these eggshells? You surely haven’t used all the eggs – and all my flour too? And the butter? Oh, it’s just too much! Here, I’ll take Elsie and wash her hair in the bath.’

  She picked Elsie up and made off with her. They were both in tears now. It was awful – and yet somehow so comical too: poor Elsie still such a sight, now dripping water as well as covered in pancake, and Izzie with her hair all tousled for once and her long face distorted with distress. I caught Clover’s eye and the most terrible snorty giggle erupted out of me before I could stop it.

  ‘It’s not remotely funny, Katy,’ said Dad, in such a sad and weary voice that I sobered up instantly.

  ‘I know, Dad. I’m not really laughing. Look, I didn’t intend the wretched pancake to land on Elsie. I didn’t mean to make such a mess. I was just trying to give everyone a lovely surprise,’ I said.

  ‘That’s really, really true, Dad. Katy just didn’t think,’ said Clover earnestly.

  ‘Exactly. You never think of consequences, Katy, and I’m getting tired of it,’ said Dad. ‘Run away and get dressed, Clover. Katy and I need to have a little private talk together.’

  My stomach turned over. I hated private talks when Dad told me off. He always made me feel so dreadful. Clover knew, and hesitated, hoping Dad might change his mind.

  ‘Go on, Clover. You can help the little ones get washed and dressed,’ said Dad.

  She had to go and I was left, waiting for the telling off. Dad doesn’t shout like some fathers. He just speaks quietly and seriously and tells you how disappointed he is in you. It’s far worse than shouting. He stood there in his old-fashioned stripy pyjamas, his feet bare, yet he managed to have an air of chilly dignity.